


Shelter

by SmashingTeacups



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Canon Compliant, Comin' Thro' The Rye, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Lallybroch, Missing Scene, NSFW, Outlander Summer of Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-04 04:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20465324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmashingTeacups/pseuds/SmashingTeacups
Summary: Jamie once offered his wife the protection of his body, if need be.In the pouring rain one afternoon, he gives her just that.Canon-compliant, missing scene, set at Lallybroch during book 1/episode 01x12. My final contribution for Outlander Summer of Smut 2019.





	Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> _A/N: Hello, and welcome to my last contribution for Outlander Summer of Smut 2019! It's been such a blast to participate in this little writing extravaganza. I'm so grateful for the outpouring of love and support from this community over the past two months! I hope you enjoy this final installment (because Jamie and Claire sure did... _😉)!
> 
> _My deepest thanks to @missclairebelle, @desperationandgin, @lcbeauchampoftarth and @thefraserwitch for being such phenomenal and flexible betas._
> 
> _The theme for this month, by the way, was "umbrellas." _☂️

I hadn’t seen my wife all day. 

I’d left her in our bed that morning as the first grey light of dawn filtered through the curtains. Claire’s limbs had been wrapped around me like a vine, so it was impossible not to disturb her when I rose. She’d made a soft hum of protest, her pillow-lined face crumpling in a frown as I slipped out from underneath her. I’d hushed her with a kiss, tucked the quilt around her, whispered for her to go back to sleep. Curled up with her face in my pillow, she’d gone slack and content again before I’d even crossed the room to fetch my plaid.

And that was the last I’d seen or heard from her. 

It wasn’t such an unusual thing for midday; I spent my mornings working the fields and tending the livestock, and thus didn’t pay much heed to the goings-on of the house. Occasionally I’d catch sight of her from a distance, puttering about the edge of a pasture in search of her wee herbs, or hanging clothes to dry on the line. Fleeting, reassuring glimpses that all was well; that she was finding her way, learning the rhythms of the homestead, the land. Lallybroch was hers now, as much as it was mine or Jenny’s or Ian’s, and seeing her there — watching her ease into the place like she’d been born to it — warmed me to my marrow.

But there’d been no glimpses of her that day from any distance — no sign of her whatsoever. It hadn’t bothered me at first; I reckoned she was occupied with some task inside the house. She’d been eyeing the library with great interest the previous few days. Perhaps she’d immersed herself in a good book and was tucked into some cozy corner, reading with her feet curled up beneath her and the tip of a finger caught between her teeth. The thought made my heart ache with longing, and I went back to work smiling as I heaved a bale of fresh-twined hay up into the loft.

She wasn’t in the house, though, when I went back in for lunch. Mrs. Crook hadn’t seen her since breakfast, and neither had Jenny. I peeked my head inside the library — nothing. Hurtled up the stairs to check our room — nothing. 

I went back out to the barn, worrying the inside of my cheek with my teeth, but told myself she was probably out foraging, so I shouldn’t fash myself overmuch that no one had seen or heard from her in a few hours. 

But then it started to pour. 

My Sassenach was not overly fond of the rain. I stepped out of the barn to scan the horizon in all directions, waiting for her hunched form to appear, grasping a shawl over her head as she hurried back to the cover of the house.

Still, nothing.

I went searching for her then. 

I tried the house again, the garden, the copse of elms where she liked to pick mushrooms. Hopping on Donas, I made a round of the property, the mill — followed the burn to all of her favorite spots to scavenge for watercress.

Nothing. She was nowhere to be found. 

Starting to panic, I kicked Donas into a gallop and rode hard back to the barn, shutting the stallion in his stall without bothering to untack him. As soon as the latch was bolted I wheeled around, scattering drops of rain water into the dust as I took off at a jog. 

My wife had a knack for finding trouble, and my heart hammered ferociously as my thoughts turned to the darkest of all possibilities:

That she was stranded somewhere, lost and hurt.

That she’d changed her mind about staying with me and made for the Stones. 

Or, worst of all, that she’d been taken; that Jack Randall had somehow found us, captured her again… 

Wild-eyed and chest heaving, I was so caught up in the madness of my own making that I nearly missed the wee sound as I stormed past the last door in the barn.

_ A sigh. _

A _ frustrated _ sigh, hissed out through clenched teeth. 

I stopped cold in my tracks, straining to listen over the noise of my own ragged breathing and the roar of blood in my ears. 

And then came the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard in my life, nearly bringing me to my knees with relief. 

“Jesus H. _ Roosevelt _ Christ!” 

Bracing a hand against the wall, I dropped my head forward, letting out my breath in a great huff. When I straightened again, I rolled my eyes heavenward, sending up a silent prayer of thanks. 

_ Fine… she’s fine, _ I told myself repeatedly to calm the frantic pounding in my chest. _ She’s here. She’s safe. _

So great was my relief that I didn’t stop to question what on earth Claire was doing in my father’s old workshop. Gulping down a steadying breath, I rounded into the small room that still smelled of sawdust and leather, iron, straw, sweat, and candle smoke — a combination that would forever remind me of my Da. 

I found Claire perched on his old wooden stool, bent over his workbench, wearing his leather smock over her own clothes. A few strands of hair had escaped from her bun and curled in frizzy wisps about her ears and neck; she blew at one of them irritably, then brushed it behind her ear with white-pasted fingers when it floated back down into her face. 

I crossed the room to her in three great strides and dropped to one knee beside her. She jumped a little, taken by surprise, but her posture relaxed when I pressed my lips to her upper arm, then laid my forehead against her shoulder. 

“Well, hello,” she said, laughing softly. A tinge of concern crept into her tone as I eased a bit closer, draping an arm around her to hold her at the waist. “Is everything alright?”

“Mmphm,” I mumbled into the cloth of her sleeve, too embarrassed by my own overreaction to say more, but needing to feel her safe in my arms, to breathe her in. 

“You’re soaked,” she pointed out, her fingers plucking at my rain-damp hair. 

“It’s raining.”

She made a guttural noise of acknowledgment. “So I gathered.” She leaned forward to grasp something on the workbench in front of her, gently dislodging my head from her shoulder. “Good timing, actually. If it keeps up for a while I can put my little project here to the test.”

“Oh?” I kissed her arm once more before sitting back to eye the seemingly random spread of items in front of her. She had a collection of long twigs, all cut to the same length; one thick, sturdy stick at least triple the size of the rest; a roll of twine; a large circle of heavy green cloth that she appeared to be slathering with lard. “And what project is that?”

“Well, it’s not finished yet,” she explained, letting out a slight sigh. “But this is what it’s meant to be.” She handed me a piece of parchment with a wee archetype sketched upon it.

I raised my eyebrows, glancing at her over the top of the page. “An umbrella?”

She looked pleasantly surprised. “So they _ do _ have them now! I wasn’t sure they’d been invented yet.” 

I nodded, handing the parchment back to her. “Oh aye, they were verra popular when I was studying in Paris. Havena ever seen one in Scotland, though.”

“No... you wouldn’t, would you?” Claire muttered, golden eyes glittering with the hint of a tease. She set the paper aside and scooped a finger into the crock of lard, then set about smearing it evenly across the green cloth. “I imagine you Highlanders would consider it an affront to your pride.” 

I chuckled as I rose to my feet, planting a kiss on the crown of her head. “It’s no’ a matter of _ pride _ so much as _ practicality, _ Sassenach. T’would be a great bother carryin’ it around wi’ ye everywhere, no? It’s easier just wearin’ a plaid over yer heid.” I shrugged. “Most of the time I dinna even bother wi’ that. It’s only water.” 

She made a little hum of disdain. “In the summer, perhaps. But in spring or autumn, when it’s bloody freezing to boot...” She cast a pointed glance at me over her shoulder. “You remember the night we met?”

I bent to capture her lips with mine. “I’m no’ likely to forget, Sassenach.” 

“Mm.” She smiled against the corner of my mouth, grazed the tip of her nose against mine. “You told me I was shaking so hard I made _ your _ teeth rattle.”

It was instinctual, the way our bodies aligned to the memory of that night. I moved to stand behind her in the same moment that Claire edged forward to the front of the stool, making room for me. I straddled the seat and took hold of her waist, my fingers splaying over her hip bones to draw her back against me as I sat. She fit perfectly there, nestled between my thighs and against my chest, every curve of her body the natural counterpoint to mine — that perfect round arse, the arc of her spine, the wings of her shoulders — all molded seamlessly to the lines of my own muscles and ligaments and bones. She was so small I could wrap my arms all the way around her and touch my own ribs again, and I did so, nuzzling into her curls as I held her close. 

“Ye were,” I murmured, taking the edge of her earlobe between my lips. “Until I wrapped ye in my plaid. Ye stopped shiverin’ after that.”

An echoing shiver went through her then, goosebumps erupting beneath my tongue as I touched it to a wee spot just behind her ear. The faint whimper she made went straight to my groin, expediting my cock’s natural response to being pressed against her. Claire arched her hips back when she felt it, wriggling those lovely plump buttocks tighter against me. I released a shuddering breath into her hair, scoring the muscular curve of her neck with my teeth.

“I think that had more to… do… with…” Her voice was weakening, her breath coming faster and shallower as I drew the leather smock over her head and began to unknot the laces at the front of her bodice. She let her head drop back against my shoulder with a sigh as I kissed my way down the column of her throat, my tongue darting out to taste the hollow just above her collarbone. “… your body heat than the… plaid.”

“Mmphm,” I hummed against her skin, finally getting a thumbnail into the knot of her stays and working it loose. My fingers knew what to do after that; they began a familiar dance — _ tug, spread, flick, twirl, repeat _ — through the criss-crosssing laces down the midline of her torso. “Dinna think yer wee umbrella will help much wi’ that, _ mo nighean donn. _S’pose ye’ll just have to keep me close any time it rains, hm?”

She laughed weakly, the sound hitching into a gasp as the bodice finally splayed open across her chest with one last deft flick of my index finger. I pushed it helpfully down her arms and whisked it away onto the floor, leaving her clad only in her shift. Without a moment’s hesitation, my left hand slipped beneath her neckline to cup the heavy mound of a breast, kneading gently until it puckered against the callus of my palm. The right was occupied gathering the hem at her calf, embarking on a slow climb along the smooth expanse of her leg, fingers bunching the thin cotton as they skimmed steadily higher. 

Not one to give up on an argument, my wife continued to banter feebly, even as her voice faltered and broke over the words. “Well, practically speaking, if it’s… such a bother to… carry around… an umbrella, I… can’t… imagine it’s… any more… feasible... to… _Christ,_ _Jamie_—”

My fingers had found the glorious thicket that thatched over the most sacred part of her, biding for a moment to stroke the soft, coarse curls. Claire pinched her lower lip between her teeth, lifting her hips into my hand in a silent plea. Smiling into her neck, I teased a single finger along the length of her sex — down and back again — slipping inside her just long enough to gather a bit of slick moisture and spread it to the tender wee bud that craved my attention. 

Claire made a desperate sound, somewhere between a hum and a whimper, as I began to draw gentle, looping circles — with one fingertip at first, then rolling the delicate pearl of flesh between the pads of my thumb and forefinger — while the fingers on my left hand mirrored the gesture over the hardened peak of her nipple. She turned her head, seeking my mouth, and I gave it to her, letting her bite and suck and lick at me between shuddering gasps for air. I chased her mouth with mine as she began to writhe, swallowing her sounds, the taste of her tongue, the humid warmth of her panting like a starving man. 

When she wrenched away from me, her eyes screwed shut and her chin tipped back in concentration, I took my cue, sliding my right hand further down, curving two fingers into the velvet heat of her. She tried to cry out my name, but managed only the first syllable before it broke off into a sobbing gasp for air. 

I knew she was close — _ very _ close — and I began to rock my hips against hers on instinct as my fingers moved in her and over her, unable to keep still any more than she could. She dug her nails into the flesh of my thighs, clawing me closer as she moaned, keened, begged.

“Jamie, _ please_…”

“I dreamed about this.” My voice was a grated rasp, lips parted against the hollow of her cheek. “During that first ride together.”

_ “Jamie…” _

“How it would feel to... touch ye, Sassenach. Taste ye. Burrow deep inside ye and move in ye until I couldna take it…”

“Oh _ God_."She broke suddenly and without warning, her whole body going rigid in my arms — hips jerking up, trying to scramble away from the unbearable pleasure of her climax. I held on, moved with her, stroking her through the rippling convulsions that clenched around my fingers, flooding them in slippery warmth. 

I was still ravenous, _ burning, _ but tried to keep my kiss soft against her lips as I eased her through the aftershocks and felt her go slack in my arms. She mewled into my mouth, breathing hard for a time before she turned, repositioning herself to sit in my lap, her thighs straddling my hips. I groaned when she began to grind down against me, so slick with arousal that the damp heat seeped through the fabric of my kilt.

“Take me outside, Jamie,” she commanded between breathless, increasingly fevered kisses. “I want to make love to you in the rain.”

“Aye,” I gasped, nodding my fervent agreement as I got my feet underneath me, preparing to lift us both. I kissed her soundly, swirling my tongue over hers one last time before parting from her mouth. Heavy-lidded eyes trained on hers, I made sure she watched as I sucked each of my arousal-slicked fingers down to the hand joint, humming appreciatively at the taste of her. She panted hard, pupils blown wide as I dropped my lips to her ear, whispering, “Just needed a wee taste first.” 

Without further ado, I launched to my feet, hoisting my wife up with me. Claire’s arms and legs twined reflexively around me as I found my balance, and she waited patiently to crush her mouth against mine again until I’d walked us out of the workshop, round the corner of the barn, and out into the pouring rain. 

Soaked to the skin in seconds, our lips and tongues and teeth crashed in a fury, nearly savage with want. I staggered forward blindly with no real destination in mind, too consumed by the living flame in my arms to care for anything but the white-hot need to be inside of her. I wanted to taste her, too; to devour her; to have her mouth on me in return; to take her from behind and to pin her from the front; to ride her hard and let her ride me. I wanted her, _ all _ of her — infinitely, unequivocally, insatiably. 

I had a sneaking suspicion, though, that my endurance would not be what I wished. My cock was already straining nearly to the point of pain, fit to burst at the slightest provocation. The right words, the right _ look _ from Claire in that moment would have finished me, and I knew it. 

Reluctantly, I disentangled myself from her greedy mouth long enough to get a look around, survey the available options. The large stone barn shielded us from view of the house, so no need to worry about that; still, wee Rabbie MacNab was wandering about the barnyard somewhere, and I had no real interest in giving the lad his first lesson in pleasuring a woman, educational though I knew it would be. 

There was a rye field just beyond the hill ahead of us, perhaps three hundred feet away. I decided that was our best option, given the circumstances — but not if my wife continued to pant and writhe and grind against me the whole way there. I’d never make it.

I kissed her once, hard, then took her by the hips and urged her to stand on her own two feet. Claire obliged without question, dropping down and opening arousal-bleary eyes to look at me.

“I need ye to walk a bit, _ a nighean,” _ I told her apologetically, brushing my thumb over the apple of her cheek. “My cock’s fit to snap off if ye keep on like that.” 

She blushed prettily, biting her lower lip as she smiled. “Sorry. Where are we going?”

“Dinna _ apologize.” _ I laughed breathlessly, scrubbing a hand over my rain-soaked face and back into my hair. “Just there. The rye field.” I pointed toward the hill, and she turned to look, nodding her agreement. She shot me a smirk over her shoulder, arched a brow suggestively, and then she took off toward it at a run.

“Well, come on, then!” she called without turning, her laughter echoing off the stones of the barn.

I watched her go, struck boneless, motionless by the sight of her — the long, graceful lines of her arms and legs, her perfect swan neck, the brown curls streaming down her back, every curve of that impossibly round arse accentuated by the shift clinging to her like a second skin.

It didn’t escape me, in that moment, what a lucky bastard I was… even if I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around the fact that this — that _ she _ — was my life now. Somehow, impossibly, Claire had chosen me. Chosen _ this. _

I saw a flash of the future laid out before us; saw us as we were in that moment, young and wild and carefree, making love in every copse and field and shed within Lallybroch’s bounds; saw us ten years later, chasing bonny, laughing, curly-haired bairns through the house; another twenty after that, strolling quietly hand-in-hand around the property at sunset, watching our grandchildren play.

It still didn’t feel real, somehow. 

A chill went through me at the thought; a quiet, nebulous sense of foreboding. 

I shook it off, mistaking it for the wind, and ran smiling after my wife.

She crested the hill before me, so I lost sight of her for a moment; when I reached the summit, I saw only her shift, discarded in a wet heap at the edge of the rye field below. 

“Come on, slow poke!” her disembodied voice called from within the golden stalks. 

Grinning, I stripped off my own shirt and tossed it aside with a wet smack as I hurried down the hill after her. I still had no idea where she was when I reached the edge of the rye. Peering through the swaying yellow reeds with narrowed eyes, I unbuckled my belt and dropped my whole kilt to the ground in a heap. 

“Sassenach?” I called.

“Come find me!” her voice answered from somewhere vaguely to the southwest. I could hear the smile in her tone, and my expression took on a predatory gleam as I dropped into a wee crouch and eased side-face into the rye.

Claire was not at all difficult to track; the stalks, rain-laden as they were, had drooped where she’d walked, leaving a trail even a bairn might have followed. Still, I made a show of struggling to find her, weaving a roundabout trail to catch her from behind.

I found her huddled in the middle of the field, her arms wrapped around herself, shivering a bit despite the warmth of the late afternoon. 

_ Body heat, _she’d said. Well, that was certainly a request I was more than happy to oblige. 

She gave a very satisfying yelp when I latched onto her suddenly from behind, making a snarling noise in her ear. With my arms wrapped tightly around her, I could feel her heart hammering frantically from the wee fright. 

_ “Jesus Christ, _Jamie!” she gasped, then began to cackle, doubled over laughing. I bent with her, laughing even harder, peppering the space between her shoulder blades with stubble-burnt kisses.

“I’m a braw wee tracker, Sassenach,” I said when I caught my breath, grinning against the nape of her neck. “And ye’re terrible at hiding.”

Her laughter died into a hum in her throat as she spun in my arms to face me. “That’s because I wanted to be found,” she said, and dropped to her knees in front of me.

When her mouth closed around my cock — her warm, wet tongue swirling over the tip — I was fairly sure my groan shook the windows all the way back at the house. My fingers clenched into the sopping tangles of her hair, though I was uncertain whether I meant to push her away or hold her there. 

She hummed appreciatively as she took me deeper, and the wee sucking noises from her attentions were enough to make the decision for me.

I took a sharp step back, the veins in my neck and temples straining as I pinched the tip of my cock to keep from spilling then and there.

Claire looked up at me with an earnest smile, wiping her mouth on the back of her wrist. “It’s alright,” she assured me, crawling closer and stroking my thighs with her palms. “Let me. You saw to me earlier.” 

I shook my head fervently and dropped to my own knees in front of her. “No,” I insisted, taking her by the back of the neck and kissing her. “No, I want to be inside ye. I just… I need a minute tae…” I shook my head again to clear it, embarrassed, feeling like a green lad. I placed my palm between her breasts, encouraging her to lie back. “May I taste ye first, _ mo chridhe?” _

I watched the long white column of Claire’s throat constrict as she swallowed. She took a shaky breath, then nodded once.

I let her lay back and situate herself comfortably _ (or as comfortably as possible, in a field of soggy rye) _before laying on my belly between her legs. She shifted her hips down obligingly for me, opened her thighs, and tensed the muscles of her lower abdomen, staring up at the sky. 

I let her wait for the space of ten heartbeats, letting the anticipation build, listening to her breath shake, before parting her slowly with my fingers and setting my tongue to work. 

She was already aroused — swollen and slippery from my earlier attentions — so I knew it wouldn’t take much to shatter her again. I paid careful attention to the pattern of her breathing as I lapped, circled, swirled. Panting meant that she was enjoying herself, but not yet close to the precipice; when she started to hold her breath, to clamp down, to gasp in starts and stops, it meant she was spiraling. 

Once she started to do that, I slipped two fingers beneath my chin, curving inside her, and lifted _ up_. She arched involuntarily, dislodging my mouth, but I was prepared for that; I took a few moments to catch my breath while I worked her with fingers alone, then when I’d filled my lungs, I went in for the kill. Sealing my lips over her sex, I drew the swollen wee bud into my mouth and sucked in gentle, fluttering pulses while my fingers lifted and pumped, twisted and beckoned inside her. 

Claire came apart screaming, flooding my smiling mouth with the taste of her release. I removed my fingers and replaced them with my tongue, eagerly drinking her down, reaping the reward of my efforts with no small amount of satisfaction. The thighs that had been clamped tight around my neck trembled as my wife fell back, limp and boneless, making soft whimpering noises on each exhale. Her hand flapped listlessly in the direction of my face, and I reached up to take her palm and guide it to my lips. 

For a while I rested right where I was, my cheek pressed to the silk of Claire’s inner thigh while the pad of her thumb stroked absently along the bow of my mouth, the cleft of my chin. I stared up at her through heavy-lidded eyes, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the spatter of raindrops across her porcelain skin. A tiny pool had begun to gather in the hollow just beneath her sternum, and I studied it, transfixed, until I couldn’t take it any longer; bracing myself on my forearms, I inched my mouth slowly up the center of her belly, making a beeline directly toward it. 

Goosebumps prickled across the fine, nearly translucent skin of Claire’s torso when my tongue dipped into that wee hollow, lapping up the teaspoon of rainwater as though I had just emerged from a desert. I lingered in that spot for a long while, eyes closed, savoring the strong, steady beat of her heart against my lips.

“Jamie.” I felt my name vibrate in my wife’s chest as she murmured it. Her fingers threaded into my hair, cupping the curves of my skull and drawing me up to her. “Come here.”

I eased off to one side of her and slid up on my hip until my elbow was bent around her head. We stared into one another’s eyes for a moment, simply looking, studying. Her knuckles dragged over the stubble of my cheek; mine swept a damp lock of hair back from her forehead. She lifted her face in the same moment that I dipped, and our lips met softly in the middle. We kissed languidly, deeply, parting for one another; tongues grazing in fleeting touches at first, then more boldly — probing, sweeping — until I groaned hungrily into Claire’s open mouth.

I was a patient man, but I had my limits. By that point I’d very nearly reached them. 

I was still stone hard, balls aching and cock straining against Claire’s thigh. I’d had plenty of time to consider how I wanted to take her, how to give her the most pleasure in the precious little time I expected to last. I was steadier now than I had been when she’d taken me in her mouth, but not by much. My intentions were to ride her hard and fast; take her from behind, knowing full well that it was one of her favorite positions _ (despite the heckling she’d given me on our wedding night)_, and all but guaranteed to make her buckle and break with a few deep, well-placed thrusts.

It was a braw plan, and one that I was very keen to implement. 

But then Claire started to shiver. 

The goosebumps had spread like an epidemic across her arms, her neck, her breasts. She’d been pressing steadily closer to me as we kissed — a gesture I’d initially mistaken for passion, but was slowly recognizing as an increasingly desperate attempt to get warm.

I pulled back from her mouth, frowning a little, touching her cheek with my thumb.

“Are ye cold, _ mo ghraidh?” _

“A little,” she admitted softly, but smiled up at me anyway. She wriggled closer, her lips seeking mine again as she whispered, “Warm me?” 

The near-violent urge to protect her roared to life in my chest like an inferno, instantly obliterating any lingering, ill-conceived notion of taking her from behind. Instead, I wrapped both arms around her and tilted her up onto her side, pulling her flush against me, skin-to-skin from chests to knees. Feeling goosebumps erupt across the bare, freshly exposed skin of her back and buttocks, I adjusted accordingly — angling her under me at a slight diagonal, so that the pelting rain fell upon my back and side, my body acting as a shield for hers. 

“Is that better?” I asked, nuzzling her forehead and then kissing it gently. 

Claire’s eyes locked on mine as she hooked her knee over my hip, opening to me in silent invitation. “Almost,” she breathed.

Swallowing hard, I reached down between us and took a firm grip on my shaft. I guided the tip to her entrance, pausing for a moment like a supplicant before the gates of Heaven. I held my breath as I thrust deep into the tight velvet heat of her, desperately willing myself not to come on the spot. 

Thankfully — unexpectedly — the angle of my approach seemed to be a pleasing one for Claire; she threw her head back, mouth falling open when I slid halfway out and back in again, burying myself to the hilt inside of her. Her breath hitched into a low, guttural moan of appreciation, and she lifted up to meet me on the next three thrusts, a wee crease of concentration forming between her brows.

On the fourth thrust, she clenched experimentally around me, and I shuddered, the air knocked from my lungs as if I’d taken a blow to the chest.

On the fifth, she lifted her hips and clenched at the same time, and I bit down on my lower lip so hard I tasted blood. As I withdrew, I shook my head at her, wide-eyed with apology. Her own eyes sparkled knowingly, and she gave a slight nod, panting and smiling up at me. 

Determined to give her as much pleasure as I could in the seconds I had left, I put my forehead to hers and drove into her with reckless abandon — rough, fast and deep. 

Five, six, _ seven _ more times…

“Jamie, oh God... oh please, _ Jamie!” _

My wife’s voice pitched high in desperation, her face screwed tight, nails scoring the flesh of my upper arms. I could feel her smooth muscular walls begin to flutter and tighten around me with the promise of her finish; she was right there, _ right _ on the cusp...

_ Hold it another few seconds, _ I pleaded with myself. _ Just a few more seconds... _

I gritted my teeth until my jaw ached, feeling my balls start to pull in tight to my body, a bone-deep shudder building from the base of my spine. I lifted my wife’s lower back off the ground in the palm of one broad, shaking hand; pressed the thumb of the other just above our joining and began to rub her in frantic circles. Claire let out a keening whine that bled into a four-syllable rendition of my name, arching, _ begging _ me...

Choking out a Gaelic curse, I rammed into her three more times, as hard as I could.

She flew apart a half-second before I did, clenching around me with a silent, open-mouthed scream. I convulsed, going blind, _ mad _ with pleasure, every muscle of my body rigid and shaking as I exploded deep inside her. 

There was a strange dissonance to the moments that followed; a muted, ringing lapse in my perception of time and space.

I had no recollection of slipping out of my wife, soft and flaccid and spent; of shifting her down to the bed of wilted rye; of crawling on top of her; of shifting my knees to the outside of hers to box her in, enfolding her small, delicate frame within the shelter of my larger one. 

I must have done so at some point, though, because by the time I regained a hazy, tenuous grasp on the world around me, that’s precisely where I found myself. I held Claire’s hands tightly in mine, clasped between our hammering hearts — my face tucked into the curve of her neck, and hers into mine. We were still breathing hard, my wife’s labored respirations punctuated by the occasional mewl or whimper. 

Her whole body was covered, head-to-toe, in gooseflesh, but she was hot to the touch now, the taste of salt on her skin evidence enough that the sheen of moisture subsisted of more than just the rain.

_ Body heat indeed, _I thought, and smiled to myself. 

Claire must have felt it against the curve of her neck, for I felt her own lips curl in response as she snuggled closer. She made a quiet, sleepy hum of amusement against my skin. “What?”

My smile only broadened, an answering chuckle rumbling deep in my chest. “Nuthin’,” I muttered, kissing the curve of her jaw. 

Claire eased back to look at me, her warm golden eyes sparkling inquisitively. “No, tell me.”

Lips twitching with the effort to keep from laughing outright, I nuzzled the tip of her nose with mine. “Mm. I was only thinkin’ of yer wee umbrella.” 

Her own mouth stretched into a grin against mine as I kissed her. “What about it?” she murmured against my lips, though I could tell she knew fine well where the conversation was headed.

“Weel, I dinna mean to disparage yer work, Sassenach…”

Claire made a throaty, dubious wee noise that was practically Scottish sounding. “Mmphm.”

“But as we were discussin’ the _ practicality _ of such a thing…”

She captured my upper lip between hers in a nibble. “Mm... mhm...” 

“I canna help but point out the obvious.”

Leaning back, she quirked an eyebrow at me in challenge. “What, and you think your plaid would have served us any better?”

I huffed out a laugh, dropping my forehead to hers. “Nah. S’pose not, eh? Seein’ as though it’s layin in a heap up on that hill somewhere.”

My wife purred another, final “mhm” of triumph as her lips grazed mine. I pulled back from her slowly, savoring her, sharing her breath. Disentangling one of my hands from hers, I drew the pad of my forefinger along her cheekbone as amusement fizzled into quiet contemplation. 

“I once offered ye the protection of my body, ye recall? On the night we were wed. It’s still yours, _ mo nighean donn_. My warmth, comfort, shelter. Whatever I have to give ye, it’s yours, always.”

I swallowed the small, tender sound she made as she cradled my face in her hands and kissed me deep. 


End file.
